


it was all yellow

by metronomin



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, First Love, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, bonus points if it's about hyuck, take a shot every time i use a sun or light metaphor lmao, this is just. 13k of mark pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29152989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metronomin/pseuds/metronomin
Summary: Mark realises he's in love a little too late - late enough that it doesn't make a difference anymore.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 21
Kudos: 95
Collections: Love Dream 2020





	it was all yellow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magnoliafilms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnoliafilms/gifts).



> dear ace,
> 
> this fic was borne from my love for sun metaphors and also "the sun is also a star", which was one of my favourite books for the longest time. i'm not entirely sure how well i stuck to the prompt, but i hope you enjoy it anyway!! thank you for letting me write for you, have an amazing day <3
> 
> \----
> 
> recommended fic playlist:  
> \- yellow // coldplay  
> \- the one that got away // katy perry  
> \- sweet night // v  
> \- fine // taeyeon  
> \- for lovers who hesitate // jannabi  
> \- violet // pentagon  
> \- about love // marina
> 
> title taken from yellow by coldplay.

In the back room of the wedding hall, Mark readjusts his tie in the mirror.

This is it, he realises. This is The Wedding. This is the only thing he’s thought about in the past few months coming to fruition, and it really does feel like his entire life has been building up to the next few hours. He’s happy, of course. He’s so happy.

So why, when he stares at his reflection in the mirror, does he see only regret?

“Are you ready?” Jeno asks, from behind him. Mark whirls around, and Jeno smiles: kind and empathetic. It’s almost like he knows. Then again, Mark hasn’t exactly been subtle about it. He’s never been subtle -- his heart has always beat too genuine for that. Distantly, Mark wonders how Donghyuck must be feeling right now. Happy, definitely, the same as Mark -- except without any of the regret.

Is he ready?

“Mark?”

Mark realises that he’s been too busy staring holes into his shoes to answer Jeno, and clears his throat. He shrugs. In the distance, purple flowers sway in the wind, and the scent of lavenders permeates the air. Even further in the distance, Mark knows that the sea is crashing against a shore; pulling the sands in, pushing them out.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

* * *

Mark’s hometown in Incheon is small: one of thousands of semi-urban towns in Korea, filled with more old people than children, with only one elementary, middle and high school. It was rare to meet someone Mark didn’t have any connection with one way or another: who would want to move here, after all? Nothing ever happened here, not like in Seoul.

Despite all this, a new face shows himself on the first day of middle school, eyes bright and kind and voice like the sun on a warm day.

“My name is Lee Donghyuck,” The voice says, paired with a bright, hundred-degree smile that seems to light up the room. Mark doesn’t know what emotion his heart is suddenly beating out of. “I come from Jeju! I hope to have a good time with all of you!” He ducks into a perfect ninety degree bow at the waist. Mark’s heart beats faster.

Somehow, because the universe has its ways, Donghyuck ends up in the empty seat next to Mark despite there being at least two other empty chairs in the entire classroom. By default, Mark is assigned as his guide around the school for the rest of the week. When Donghyuck slots himself next to him, he smiles again, and his general proximity makes Mark shiver.

“Hi! What’s your name?”

“U-uh, Mark.” He takes a deep breath. “Mark Lee.”

Perhaps Donghyuck senses his shyness, and his smile softens but does not dim. “Nice to meet you, Mark,” He says, voice kinder, a smaller star instead of the entire galaxy full of them. “I hope we can be friends.”

And they do. It takes Mark less than four periods to laugh at one of Donghyuck’s jokes, and the satisfied grin that graces Donghyuck’s features rivals the sun in its sheer luminosity. Mark guides Donghyuck around the school for the designated week, but even afterwards they are rarely found apart. Mark’s mother smiles in barely concealed relief when Mark first brings Donghyuck round to watch the Harry Potter movies.

The beginning. The rest, they say, is history.

* * *

“Hey, Mark.”

From where Mark is seated at his table flipping through his holiday reading, he looks over. Donghyuck is lying on his bed, phone discarded on the mattress, hands resting on his chest. Mark watches them rise and fall.

Donghyuck is lovely like this, he thinks: illuminated by the fading glow of the sun as it nears sunset, recently dyed hair reddish in the light. Not that he isn’t great all the time, but the Donghyuck he sees everyday is louder, brighter, a joking remark on his tongue or a grin at his lips. Always moving, whether it be in his hand gestures or his words -- forward, forward, forward. Sometimes, just sometimes, Mark finds himself sprinting to catch up.

But like this -- paused, sunlight aura softer, Donghyuck is so beautiful.

Donghyuck cracks an eye open in Mark’s direction.

“Are you going to stop staring?”

Caught, Mark ducks his head. He feels his face flush a brilliant red. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Bullshit.” Donghyuck’s voice is amused, and Mark curses his inability to lie. “Take a picture next time. I know I’m hot.”

“Yeah, right--”

“As I was saying,” Donghyuck continues, and Mark looks his way again. Donghyuck’s eyes are closed now. “We’re always going to be friends, right?”

Mark knows where this is coming from. Junior college looms in the distance, one week away, where suddenly everything they do starts to matter and university doesn’t feel all that far away. In a matter of days, they’d be swept up into a merciless current of deadlines and late nights, no time to meet up and talk with as much freedom as they always had before.

There’s all that, and yet, Mark can’t imagine living his life without Donghyuck. The thought itself feels wrong.

“Of course we will.”

In hindsight, Mark should’ve known earlier. Maybe then, things would’ve been different. But for now, he’ll take ‘always’ for what it is: forever a shape in the horizon, the end a destination he never wants to reach.

* * *

Junior college is tough for the both of them. They see each other less in person, but they pull all-nighters together over Skype; Mark stressing out about university applications while Donghyuck procrastinates on a 5000 word literary analysis. Two years of stress and the eventual final exams leaves them burnt out, cursing the education system, and exhausted.

At graduation, Donghyuck’s name gets called before Mark, in the long line of “L” starting names before “M”. His grin is blinding as the principal calls his name, hands him his diploma, as cameras flash. Luminous as he’s always been, Donghyuck finds Mark in the crowd, shooting him a thumbs up. Mark thinks it’s a trick of the light, but he thinks he sees Donghyuck’s smile grow even brighter in the midday heat.

He should’ve known. He _should’ve_ known. But that realisation comes later, later, later. Late enough for it to not be able to make a difference anymore.

* * *

Mark and Donghyuck end up in the same university. This is no surprise: even though they hadn’t explicitly planned it, they’d had enough lengthy conversations about the future at various hours of the night to know what the other wanted to do, where they wanted to go. Attached at the hip. Never separated.

They pack their bags together, leave on the same flight to a completely foreign place. Donghyuck tenses up on the plane, gripping Mark’s wrist like a lifeline, face as pale as the moon they leave their hometown under. In return, Mark rubs his thumbs along white knuckles, and when Donghyuck finally relaxes into slumber, Mark adjusts the fleece blanket under his chin.

They’d never been on a plane before, not until that day. Another first to add to the books; one out of hundreds they’d explored together over decades of easy, intimate friendship.

Mark realises he quite likes planes, even though they smell like musty, recycled air, and the food is subpar at best. It’s quiet, mostly silent except for the occasional murmur or whisper, and it’s mostly dark with the exception of the bright glow of night owl TV screens. When he looks out over Donghyuck’s sleeping form through the window, the Prussian blue expanse of the sky outside twinkles faintly with white pinpricks of light. Mark can see himself in the reflection -- wide, slightly droopy eyes staring back at him, and he falls asleep to the image of himself floating amongst the clouds, tumbling against an infinite meadow of stars.

If anyone asks Mark about his first airplane flight, that is what he would describe to them: the murky solitude of being awake in a drowsy plane, reading a book and putting his scrambled thoughts to notebook paper by dim lamplight. All that is true. What he will not tell them is this:

Mark awakes from his short slumber with Donghyuck’s head tucked under his chin, slumped on his shoulder. Of course, Donghyuck had taken a melatonin pill as he got on the flight to make sure he’d be well-rested upon their arrival. His breath moves even and deep like an ocean, eyes fluttering as he dreams.

Outside, the sun is rising, and it casts Donghyuck in golden and orange, the sunlight honeyed and sweet against the blanket that covers Donghyuck.

“Hyuck,” Mark marvels, gently shaking his friend awake despite his reluctance to move him. “Hyuck, wake up.”

“Mnh,” is the responding answer, a crease forming between Donghyuck’s eyebrows as he stirs, shifting further into the crook of Mark’s neck. His breath is warm against Mark’s exposed skin, and Mark smiles fondly at him.

“Hyuck, wake up,” Mark tries again, and his voice is too fond, too sweet, and one day he’ll wonder how dense he was to not even have noticed himself when he was so painfully obvious. “You won’t want to miss this, seriously.”

With that, Donghyuck cracks an eyelid open, gaze hazy with the fog of dreams. He rubs them open, blinking groggily. “Wh-what?” He yawns and stretches like a lazy cat, the neckline of his sweater rumpled with sleep and time. Mark notices he’s still too tired to make a snarky remark or argue, and he smiles.“What’s happening?”

Wordlessly, Mark points an index finger, eyes trained on the sunrise.

When Donghyuck turns to face the light, he is set aflame.

It’s the only way Mark can describe it. In the backlight of holy sunrise, Donghyuck looks like an angel sent down. His entire being is aureate, and Mark can only watch in hushed awe as Donghyuck, eyebags prominent with his hair tousled from sleep, turns to him with a smile on his face. The smile he has on is one of reverence, slight surprise, and it’s the most beautiful thing Mark has ever seen.

“It’s beautiful,” Donghyuck whispers, as if his normal volume would ruin the moment. “Wow, sunrises hit _different_ when you’re up in the air. It’s… wow.”

As more people begin to rouse and windows reopen, Mark can hear the small “Oh My God”s, the almost unheard “Wow”s as the amber morning light streams in, colouring the greyish plane interior a fiery palette of warmth and comfort. He’ll remember this sunrise for the rest of his life, and in the future, he’ll tell people about it, but this image, he’ll keep for himself:

Donghyuck, resplendent against the sunlight, his grin childlike and mellow: the colour of a hug, the brilliance of a bonfire on an icy winter night.

“Wow,” Mark echoes, and it startles him to realise he doesn’t know what he’s talking about when he says this. “Beautiful.”

(Later on, when they descend to blue skies and a clear runway, Mark reaches over Donghyuck and traces a smiley face on the window condensation with his index finger. Donghyuck looks over at him and scoffs.

“You’re such a five-year-old,” Donghyuck shakes his head, disbelieving. “Who the fuck even does that at age nineteen?”

Mark rolls his eyes, burying his attention back into his book. “Shut up,” he mumbles, tone light. “As if you’re any better.”

An amused pause. “Eh, you’re right. I’m not.”

When Mark looks back up, Donghyuck is drawing hearts and stars with an almost entertaining amount of concentration. Mark laughs, a loud “HA” that lifts his heart and startles Donghyuck, who looks back. He stares at Mark, eyes crinkled but unreadable.

“What?” Mark asks, suddenly self-conscious, book still open on his lap. It’s just then that the seatbelt sign turns off, and people start climbing out of their seats to retrieve their carry-on luggage. Chatter and noise fills the air, but Mark tunes it out. Donghyuck’s eyes are a nice shade of brown, he remembers thinking. Were they always this nice? “Is there something on my face?”

Donghyuck holds his gaze for a little longer, then relaxes into a small smile. “No,” Donghyuck tilts his head. “You looked funny there, for a second.” Beat. His voice is pensive, quiet, but then it launches back to normal. “But you always look funny, so I don’t know why I was taken aback.”)

_In another life._

* * *

In retrospect, those moments in the airplane, suspended thousands of feet above the rest of the world, was when Mark truly fell in love with Donghyuck before he even realised he was falling in the first place. The point of no return is an unknown coordinate above an unknown city, or ocean, or plain.

Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20. As much of a sucker Mark is for the art of nostalgia and reminiscence, he sometimes wished he could close his eyes. It would’ve been easier that way. He wouldn’t have found himself tangled in the silk web of emotions he’d spun that he had simultaneously fallen prey to. Both the spider and the fly, the instigator and the victim.

In the end, love, like many other things, was a game. Mark had never learnt how to play, and by the time he’d figured out the rules, he’d already lost.

* * *

Donghyuck seems to thrive in their university environment in ways Mark does not.

Sure, Mark has _friends_. He’d gotten somewhat close with a bunch of seniors in his faculty (Music, specialising in Production -- he’d met Jaehyun at orientation, then met Kun through him, who was friends with _everyone_ ), and even had a smattering of same-age friends (Lucas, Dejun, Guanheng, etcetera). However, Mark wasn’t one to be seen at house parties, or someone who was widely discussed in the university gossip mill (which, while thankfully less blaring as high school, was still very much existent). He was simply in the background -- good at what he did, with enough friends that he wasn’t alone but not enough that he was popular.

Donghyuck, however.

Somehow, ever the persuasive business major, Donghyuck had finessed his way into the upper echelons of the freshman social scene through conversations with the right people at the right places at the right times. He’s always had a knack for that, Mark thinks, watching him converse excitedly with Lee Taeyong (one of the university’s finest, both in looks and academics) as Mark waits for him to walk back to their dorm together.

Funnily enough, Donghyuck doesn’t abandon Mark despite his newfound popularity.

“Nah, some of them are kinda toxic,” Donghyuck admits over lunch, poking at his grain bowl. “Like. You’d think people would stop talking after high school, but not really. I guess it’s human nature to gossip, in the end.”

“Perhaps,” Mark replies. “You like hearing the gossip, though.”

Donghyuck looks up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responds neutrally and smoothly, but the glint in his eyes says something else. He goes back to his lunch, stabbing at the brown grain. “Ugh, uni food sucks ass. Anyway, wanna hear about Daniel and Jihyo?”

And Mark listens. Of course he does. What else would he do?

* * *

The epiphany comes like this:

Mark, back against the wall at one of Lucas’ frat’s house parties, nursing a glass of cold water with everyone drunk around him. Normally, he and Donghyuck have a system -- if one of them drinks, the other doesn’t so that he can carry the other home. Today, it’s Mark’s turn to stay sober, and so he observes quietly as the party moves around him like an ocean, moving his head to the beat of the EDM blaring through the speakers.

Thank God for Lucas and his parties, even though they’re technically hosted under his frat's name. The university owes him a solid for single handedly bringing up the average alcohol consumption of the country’s population with every party.

Actually, there’s Lucas right now, sidling up to Mark. Surprisingly, he’s only tipsy, which is uncommon for Lucas at this time of night. Normally he’d be out back destroying people in drinking games, or stripping, or getting high, or all of them at once. Most of the time, it was the last option.

“Yo, Mark!” Lucas yells over the music, grinning. “Haven’t seen you in a while!”

“Yeah!” Mark shouts back. “School’s been crazy, dude, how are you?”

“I’m good!” Lucas smiles, and his voice returns to his regular volume (still extremely audible over the EDM blasting in Mark’s ears, which really says a lot). “I saw Donghyuck in the back! You should clear up whether he’s coming back with you tonight.”

Everything seems to still, an object suspended in the water as it sinks. Record scratch. “What?”

Lucas scrunches his nose. “Last I saw him, he was making out with Yangyang! They were really going at it too; people were cheering them on and stuff! It was quite funny. You should go check on him, but I’m pretty sure he’s having fun.”

Mark feels like he’s been injected with morphine, and not in a good way. “Oh.”

“Don’t worry, Mark, Yangyang is a great guy! He’s been interested in Donghyuck for a while, I think. He does Communications, so they’ve probably crossed paths. They’d be cute together, though. Both loud. Both very funny.”

Snapping out of his daze, Mark moves suddenly. “Lucas, where did you say Donghyuck was?”

Lucas’ expression sobers up slightly. “Out back. What’s up, dude? You look kinda pale.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Mark says, and even he doesn’t sound convincing to his own ears. Why does he sound so nervous? “Yeah, um, might just be claustrophobic. I’ll go find Donghyuck now.” Without waiting for a response, he bolts towards the backyard, movement frantic with a feeling he can’t even begin to identify. When he reaches the backyard, a DPR Live song blasts from the speakers, and the night is balmy and sticky against his skin. Mark scans the area quickly, and--

Lucas’ description of “really going at it” is far more accurate than it should be.

Mark doesn’t even know Yangyang personally, but just seeing his mouth slotted against Donghyuck’s is enough to send a lightning strike of unexplained anger coursing through Mark’s veins. The worst part is, they _do_ look good together --their fashion aesthetics match, albeit unplanned, and this sight of Donghyuck straddling Yangyang’s thighs on a garden chair…

In any other case, Mark would’ve probably joined the group of people watching Donghyuck and Yangyang in cheering them on -- he can spot Guanheng’s pink hair in the mix, along with Yeri and Yeonjun. But it’s Donghyuck, and for some reason, this stabs a stake of dread through Mark’s stomach.

Without thinking, Mark marches up to the pair, unceremoniously grabbing Donghyuck’s shoulder. Donghyuck breaks apart from Yangyang with a gasp and a lewd ‘pop’ sound, and Mark struggles to compose himself. “Come on,” he says, rougher than intended. “We’re going home.”

“But whyyyy,” Donghyuck whines, sliding off the chair onto the floor. “I’m having funnnn. Yangyang and I were just fucking around.”

Yangyang, sporting a semi and looking like he’s just seen God, waves at Mark from behind Donghyuck. Mark scowls back.

“Let’s go home. You’re drunk.”

“‘M not drunk,” Donghyuck attempts to stand on wobbly knees, jabbing an index finger into Mark’s chest before slumping against it like a tired child. “ _You’re_ drunk. Idiot. Idiot Mark.”

Mark pushes him upright, holding him by the shoulders. “Okay. That means we should go home, right?”

Donghyuck doesn’t respond in words, just groans sluggishly, and so Mark tugs him out of the backyard, weaving his way throughout a giant throng of people on the dance floor, and out of the frat house. On the porch, Lucas sits with Jungwoo, both of them with cigarettes in their hands.

“Mark!” Lucas calls, blowing smoke out of his mouth. “Leaving so soon? It’s only 12:30! The party’s just getting started!”

Graciously, Mark shakes his head. “No can do, Lucas,” He motions to Donghyuck, who seems to be half-asleep. His side is pressed up against Mark’s side, and he feels very warm. “This one is completely out.”

“Right,” Lucas nods. “You see him with Yangyang? That was a _sight_ , dude!”

“I did,” Mark says, and it sounds too quiet. It sounds like a secret. “I did.” Against him, Donghyuck groans, and the vibration sends shivers down Mark’s spine.

“Are you okay, Mark?” Jungwoo speaks, delicate and gentle like the flight of a monarch butterfly. Under the dim porch light, he looks pensive, staring at Mark as if he’s figuring out a math problem. Maybe that’s just an engineering student thing, though. “You don’t look hot.”

“I’m okay,” Mark breathes. It’s too light to be true.

“Okay,” Jungwoo says, uncertain evident in his tone. “Get home safe.”

With that, Mark hobbles out the front gate, Donghyuck drunk and half-asleep against him, Converse dragging against the pavement. The streetlights seem to beat a warning, olive oil yellow against the oily black of midnight. Mark doesn’t know where Donghyuck has put his keys, and so they go to Mark’s room instead, where Mark pours Donghyuck a cup of water from the kettle. The steam seems to wake Donghyuck up a little, who sits slouched at Mark’s table in a stupor.

“Drink,” Mark orders. “You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

Donghyuck takes a sip of the warm water, then sighs. “This isn’t my room.”

“That’s because it’s mine, dumbass,” Mark responds. “Do you know where your keys are? They weren’t in your pockets.”

“Fuck. Um, no idea.”

Silence. When Donghyuck empties his cup, he flops onto Mark’s bed. “'Night,” he mumbles, before he’s out like a light.

Mark sleeps on the floor that night, his school bag a makeshift pillow, but he wakes before Donghyuck nevertheless. Some time in the middle of the night, the latter had completely wrapped himself in blankets, and now closely resembled a burrito, or a baby swaddled in blankets. Something in Mark’s heart jumps at the sight, and he has to bite at his cheek to fight the endeared smile spreading across his face.

The beginning, but all beginnings have an end. In a way, this is an end too. But Mark isn’t thinking about this: right now, he’s just thinking about waking up to this sight every morning, for the rest of his life.

His first thought: _Oh. How lovely._

His second thought. _Oh._ Oh. _I’m in love with him._

Oh, indeed.

* * *

About six months into university, Donghyuck, business major, makes it into the annual freshman exchange programme their school holds with another university in Beijing.

“I can’t believe I got in,” Donghyuck says, clothes strewn haphazardly on the floor of his already closet-sized room, the floor barely visible. Mark sits gingerly on the edge of Donghyuck’s bed, careful not to sit back too far and risk crumpling one of Donghyuck’s button-ups. “Literally how the fuck did I get in. I’m going to Beijing for a month. Ohmygod, what do I _bring_?”

“Your passport, presumably,” Mark quips.

“Mark, I have nothing to bring to Beijing. I’m going to look like a clown.”

Mark raises an eyebrow.

“Fine, Jesus, be unhelpful.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes jokingly, turning back once again to rummage through his drawers. “Will you be the one going to Beijing?" Mark purses his lip. "Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Mark bites on the inside of his cheek, a habit from his childhood. “Are you looking forward to it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Donghyuck responds. “It’s Beijing. I’ve never been there before.”

“Do you need to be in a place you don’t know to be excited?”

“No,” Donghyuck retorts. “That’s not what I meant. What’s with you, anyway?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been acting off since Lucas’ last party. I was talking to Guanheng the other day, and he said when you stopped me and Yangyang’s makeout session, you looked really pissed.”

Shit. “I was just tired, that’s all.” Half-truth. “I had a test that day.”

“You could’ve just not gone to the party if you were that tired, but okay, if you say so.”

Silence.

Donghyuck exhales, setting a shirt down back onto his dresser and collapsing on the floor, eyes facing the ceiling. “You know, when I go to Beijing, it’ll be the longest time we’ve spent apart. Like, ever. It’s kind of crazy that we’ve spent so much time with each other. Do you think a month will change us?”

He brings it up so easily. Being apart from Donghyuck had been all Mark had been thinking about since the offers were announced, and the words he’d had for it had stuck in his throat like sandpaper every time he wanted and tried to discuss it with Donghyuck. And yet, here they were.

Firmly, Mark shakes his head. “We’ve been together for years,” he reasons, and for a moment, that phrase sounds like it means something else entirely. Did Donghyuck’s breath just hitch? “What’s just one month on us, right? What’s gonna change?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “I guess.” He exhales. “You know what, you’re right. We’ve been so consistent all these years. Would hate to break that winning streak.”

Winning streak. But who’s been winning? Lately, Mark hasn’t felt like the champion was him anymore.

But the world still turns around him. The tide still pulls, pushes, teasing the shore. Donghyuck boards a plane to Beijing, miles and miles away, and Mark sees him off at the departure gates. Here’s the thing: Donghyuck has always wanted an adventure, but has just never gotten the real taste of one in their small semi-urban neighbourhood. Now, he was alone -- a lone traveller, finding his way through unfamiliar streets in an unfamiliar language that unfamiliar people spoke.

Mark has always stayed consistent, carefully and constant grounded in himself. Donghyuck, free spirit, has not been the same. A selfish part at the back of Mark’s throat and at the bottom of his heart hopes that Donghyuck realises the inherent overratedness of exploration, and comes back to his side. Stay forever. Two of them against the world.

* * *

A month is an embarrassingly short amount of time, but Mark still finds himself picking up the pieces of Donghyuck’s absence anyway. Decades of constancy has left him complacent, it seems, and he can’t seem to function properly without Donghyuck. Mark had always thought he was a rather independent person, but he guesses not. Maybe it’s the falling in love bit he isn’t quite so used to.

Instead of having years to process it, as every other childhood crush goes, Mark gets decades’ worth of feeling slapping him across the cheek in one fell swoop. It’s suffocating, overwhelming; leaving him seasick and feeling like his lungs are crushed tissue paper. Yet, at the same time, it feels like a relief; a dam bursting after all the tension, a story everyone seemed to be reading finally making itself known to him. Every intake of oxygenated crush stings, and the world feels to him like it would to a baby bird, but he flies into it headfirst anyway. Awaiting the bone crush when he finally hits the ground.

A month is only four weeks, but this is how it goes: Mark gets bubble tea after class by himself, the heaviness of school (literally, on his back, and metaphorically) slamming into him without Donghyuck’s chatter to keep it at bay. Most of the time, Donghyuck’s too tired or too busy to Skype, when he does, even his pixelated self looks radiant.

It crushes Mark for some reason, but he supposes he can’t exactly be shocked. The sun moves around the world. Meanwhile, on his side, it’s been all rain and flashbangs of lightning, but Mark would never tell Donghyuck that. Instead, he watches tenderly through a screen as Donghyuck describes his days with animated gestures and an even more animated voice.

“I love it here, Mark,” he gushes. “I really, really do. The Chinese is hard, for sure, but it’s so _big_. There are so many people, and things to see. Yesterday, I had the _best_ bowl of Peking duck rice ever. It was insane. I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking about it.”

“Bring some back for me,” Mark huffs. “Uni food sucks, as always. And they raised the price for the soft-serve again. It’s the fifth time this year!”

“Sucks to be you,” Donghyuck sticks his tongue out playfully. “Sorry eating meals here is a spiritual experience, I guess. Loser.”

 _I’m in love with you_ , Mark thinks, wants to say. _I’m so in love with you. Please come back._

When the call cuts, nearing 4am on Mark’s clock, Mark finds himself unable to sleep. His blankets feel too warm, but without them he feels too bare. His eyes run dry as he stares at the ceiling, uncomprehending, everything and nothing racing through his mind. Even the lo-fi playlist he has on sounds like a police siren, and after ten minutes of having it on, he turns it off.

This is what everyone knows about falling for your best friend: secrets are hard to keep, and more often than not they’ll find out and what started off as a small infatuation might spiral far out of proportion. Candied memories give way to an ugly, poisonous feeling of want and desire that leaves Mark breathless and gasping for mercy. He wonders what gave rise to this: one day, he was minding his own business and living his life; the next day, butterflies fluttered in his stomach by the sheer warmth of Donghyuck by his side. He didn’t want it like this. This wasn’t how he’d pictured their friendship to progress.

What they will not tell you is that being in love with your best friend is the hardest thing in the world. It’s the same feeling Olympic athletes have when they get a silver by the smallest, most impossible margin, the same feeling when you encounter a wall when you’re mere steps away from success. Tantalus in his Hadean river, struggling for the mangoes that dangle above his head like prizes, eyes swimming with false, unattainable promises of paradise.

This is being in love with your best friend: always kept by their side, yet always held at an arm’s length. So close but still so far away. Almost is never enough, and _just_ out of reach is still simply out of reach no matter how you choose to see it.

_When he comes back_ , Mark thinks. _When he’s home. I’ll tell him then._

* * *

Donghyuck comes back from Beijing with a glow on his cheeks and the stars embedded in his eyes.

“I wanted to wait until I got back to tell you this, but,” Under his black fleece beanie, Donghyuck looks exactly like he did when he was fifteen -- more naive, less tired. “I met someone. In Beijing.”

A quiet, potent sense of resentment settles in Mark’s stomach, sinking like a stone, tying itself into a dead knot the size of a walnut. Because _of course_ Donghyuck met someone while in Beijing, all sunny smiles and infectious aura. Who wouldn’t have been drawn to that? Even Mark had fallen for it.

“Oh.”

Donghyuck frowns slightly, eyebrow creasing. “You don’t sound excited.”

 _I’m not_. _I’m in love with you._

“NO,” Mark says, a little too loudly, and Donghyuck flinches. Immediately, Mark backpedals, rubbing his eyes as if out of tiredness instead of to mask the heat prickling at the back of his eyes. “No,” He repeats, softer. “I’m just really tired. School has been really crazy lately.”

“You sure? You’re acting kinda weird. If you’re tired, we can meet again later--”

“It’s okay,” Mark cuts him off. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Donghyuck slumps slightly, looking down instead of at Mark. “If you say so.”

Mark can feel it all in dead clarity: the impatient thrum behind Donghyuck’s breath, as if he’ll burst if he doesn’t talk about his Beijing Beau. The atmosphere is palpable, as if they’re both waiting for the other to give in, to break it. Mark sighs, and with it, he feels the cracks in his spirit splinter even further, breaking apart with a sound like ceramic crushed underfoot.

“So, tell me about this person.”

And with that approval, Donghyuck launches into a half-an-hour-long tangent about the Art major he’d met in Beijing, with his pixie ears, kind eyes and even kinder words. _Huang Renjun_ , Donghyuck attempts to pronounce with the proper intonation, but doesn’t quite hit the mark. They’d kept in touch -- Donghyuck kept WeChat downloaded on his phone to bypass the firewalls of China, and Renjun had illegal VPN social media, which Donghyuck also shows to Mark. Renjun’s feed is all aesthetic pictures of art and nature and the bustling city streets, obviously well-taken and well-edited. The account’s most recent picture is one of Donghyuck, silhouette backlit against the backdrop of an alley solely lit by red lanterns, and Mark can only sit and stare.

Mark can only ever sit and observe, a helpless audience to a movie he doesn’t want to watch in a dark cinema with no people. Just him and the oppressive silence as the scenes of his saddest dreams unravel themselves before his eyes.

“I really like him, you know,” Donghyuck whispers later on, when Mark takes him out for drinks; half as a ‘Welcome Back’ and half so that Mark can get piss drunk and not have to think about Donghyuck’s budding romance. They’re lying on Mark’s bedroom floor, Donghyuck snuggled against Mark’s side, which, for once, makes Mark stiffen. “I think we could work. I really, really like him.”

When Mark awakes, Donghyuck is gone.

(Maybe if Mark had given up then, it would’ve been easier for him. Better late than never, right? He’ll never know.)

* * *

Mark still remembers Donghyuck’s first relationship. It had been in the first year of junior college, lasting exactly 5 months until the other boy in question had to take his graduating exams.

His name was Taeil, and he’d been in the grade above them. Math genius, in the student council, the kind of student who was quiet but well-known, well-liked by teachers and students alike with the voice of an angel. He was in choir with Donghyuck, and the latter (ever the risk-taker) had presented Taeil with a rose on Valentines’ Day, as well as a special acapella performance in the 4th floor corridors of Taeil’s favourite ballad.

Even Mark hadn’t known about this plan -- hearing about it from the group of girls that sit behind him in Geography. He brushes it off, but not before he wonders what else Donghyuck might be keeping from him.

To Mark's (and everyone else’s) surprise, Taeil says yes, and so begins a whirlwind romance; Donghyuck stops biking home with Mark in favour of going with Taeil and his friends to the arcade. Mark goes once or twice, and loses every single game while staring at Donghyuck -- preening under Taeil’s attention, laughing at Taeil’s jokes, purposely losing at games to act sad and be consoled. Prior to that, Mark had never once seen Donghyuck lose a game of air hockey, yet there he was: pouting in Taeil’s direction, and Mark had a feeling that Taeil wasn’t good at arcade games.

“Wow,” Johnny, one of Taeil’s friends, whistles lowly one afternoon. “You’ve got it bad, dude.”

Mark turns to him, a question in his eyes. “What? What do you mean?”

Johnny winks. “It’s okay. You can say it.”

“Say what?”

Johnny’s voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper, and he leans in closer to Mark. “You like Donghyuck.” Johnny was significantly taller than Mark, which added to Mark’s feeling that he was about to be killed despite Johnny being one of the nicest people around. Johnny straightens up, smiling placidly. “It’s alright. I won’t tell anyone, so don’t worry about it. I’m not that much of a dick.”

Mark yelps. “I don’t like him! What the hell, dude?”

Johnny nods, looking entirely unconvinced. “Okay, Mark,” Patronising. “Whatever you say.”

Mark stops going to the arcade after that.

Taeil breaks up with Donghyuck, for an “unfortunately good reason that I can’t even be mad about” (as Donghyuck’s phrasing goes). Said reason ends up being the fact that Taeil has university entrance tests to study for, which _is_ an extremely valid justification, and Donghyuck mopes about the breakup for exactly sixteen days before moving on.

“Taeil’s really smart, you know. He helped me out a ton with math and stuff. He wants to go overseas to study.” Donghyuck remarks, nonchalantly. They’re sitting on his front porch, eating fruit popsicles that they’d bought from the neighbourhood convenience store on the way home from school. The ice melts in the sun, dripping down their fingers and staining the porch with sugar. “I hope he does well. He was a good boyfriend. Good kisser, too.”

“Ew, what the fuck?” Mark groans, cringing hard at the visual in his mind’s eye. “I didn’t need to know that.”

“Well, now you do.”

Beat.

“I didn’t really feel any love, though, if I’m honest. Love for him.”

Mark turns his head to face Donghyuck, who stares ahead. “What do you mean?”

“I liked him plenty,” Donghyuck says, in a tone that sounds like he’s matured five years in a week. The side effects of a first love, a first heartbreak. “But I don’t think it was love.”

Mark blinks. “We’re still pretty young, Hyuck,” he ventures, cautious. “Who said anything about love?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “It was just a thought.” Pause. “I know what love feels like, anyway. That wasn’t it.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Mark chooses not to ask.

(Maybe he should’ve, because here’s a secret: Donghyuck was waiting for the question.)

In the end, Taeil graduates salutatorian to Kim Doyoung, and ends up going to a top engineering school halfway across the world. In eight years, his face appears in the news as the youngest member of a team formulating a biomedical solution to soil erosion, and has his five seconds of Twitter fame when people start thirsting over him in the comments.

“Icon. I should sell his pre-glow-up pictures from when we were dating. That’s my biggest flex in life, now,” Donghyuck jokes, the night Taeil appears in the news and on Donghyuck’s Twitter feed. “Do you think he’ll become the next Jeff Bezos? Might fuck around him and ask him to pay my student debt if he does, not gonna lie.”

“You still have his number?”

“God, no. Even if I did, he’s probably changed it. There’s always Instagram. I think he still follows me, even if he doesn’t remember me.”

“He probably does,” Mark responds, taking a sip of his beer. “Wasn’t he your first love?”

Donghyuck is quiet for a while.

“Hyuck?”

Donghyuck clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice trembles imperceptibly. Mark almost doesn’t catch it. “Yeah,” he acquiesces. “My first love. Right.”

Right?

_In another life, in another--_

* * *

Renjun visits them in the summer, bringing with him a luggage full of Chinese sweets (apparently Donghyuck’s favourites from his time in Beijing) and Donghyuck’s relentless good mood for a week straight.

“Hi,” Mark stares down (quite literally) at the boy in front of him, who looked misleadingly adorable if not for the double piercings in his ears. (Huh. Donghyuck wasn’t joking. He _did_ kind of resemble a pixie.) The boy holds his right hand out. “I’m Renjun. It’s nice to meet you.” Near-perfect pronunciation, barely-there accent..

Politely, Mark shakes his hand. “Your Korean is really good.”

Renjun laughs, and it sounds like a tinkle of windchimes. “Yeah, I grew up near the border of North Korea, so I’m pretty much bilingual.” Is this what Donghyuck had liked all this time? _Maybe that’s why he never spared a glance at me_ , Mark thinks. _Renjun and I are completely different people._

“Oh, sick.”

Donghyuck drapes himself over Renjun’s shoulder, pressing the small boy into a back hug. Mark’s heart bristles, but he clamps it down. Renjun grumbles, but sinks into the hug, and Donghyuck smiles like a cat who’s just gotten the cream. “Renjun is an art major,” Donghyuck says. “He’s _very_ , very talented.”

“No,” Renjun rolls his eyes. “I’m as good as any art major in my university. Nothing special.”

“Bullshit,” Donghyuck kisses his cheek, and Mark fights the urge to look away. “You’re the best artist in the world. Michelangelo wishes he were you.”

“Michelangelo was a sculptor, dumbass. I paint,” Renjun claps back, but Mark can see the flattered blush spreading onto his cheeks. Admittedly, they’re a cute couple. Maybe Mark would coo and compliment them for that if it weren’t Donghyuck against Renjun’s back.

“Anyway,” Mark says, desperate to change the topic before he breaks down, or screams, or both. “Will you be staying with us, Renjun?”

“Nah,” Renjun waves his hand. “I don’t want to intrude. I have a friend here, I’m staying with him.”

 _Thank God._ “Oh, okay then.”

“Well,” Donghyuck says, un-plastering himself from the back hug, “Renjun and I are going for fried chicken now. Wanna come, Mark?”

 _I think I would rather, uh, fall off our balcony._ “No, it’s okay,” he responds. It sounds clinical even to his own ears. “I have to stay in and work.”

“Oh, alright, next time then,” Donghyuck replies, amiably, and Renjun smiles. At that, Donghyuck smiles too, and it breaks Mark’s heart just a little bit more.

Mark wants to hate Renjun so badly, but he couldn’t possibly; not if Renjun made Donghyuck smile like that. When the pair leave the house, Mark stands in his spot in the living room, staring at the empty space. Why now, more than ever, does he feel so alone?

* * *

Inevitably, Mark is dragged out of his room to get hotpot with Renjun and Donghyuck. There, Donghyuck gets drunk and falls asleep on Renjun’s shoulder, face flushed. Surprisingly enough for someone his stature, Renjun can hold his liquor quite well, and he pats Donghyuck’s head as Donghyuck snores lightly. Mark suppresses his fond gaze, instead distracting himself with getting to know Renjun. Basic questions, really: they talk about their majors, their career dreams, how many siblings do you have? How did you and Donghyuck meet? (The last one in particular stings slightly to hear. It had been one of those borderline unrealistic, movie meet-cutes where Donghyuck had spilt coffee onto Renjun's shirt and then offered to buy him one. Somehow that makes it even more painful to hear about.)

“Actually,” Mark asks, following up the first meeting question, “Why do you like him? Donghyuck, obviously.” _I'm either a secret masochist, or I'm actually going crazy_ , he thinks to himself, fully self-aware, but the worst part is that he does genuinely want to know. For what reason, he doesn't quite understand either. _Maybe I really am a masochist._

Renjun stops to think for a moment, a fond smile on his lips, “He’s so warm,” he finally replies, and Mark feels a sense of cold seep into his veins, settling between his capillaries. “He’s like the sun, so brilliant and blinding that it just makes you want to look even more. He makes me happy.”

Despite his initial impression of Renjun, Mark realises that perhaps they aren’t so different after all.

* * *

In retrospect, Mark wonders if he'd always been that obvious. Johnny had noticed. So had Jungwoo, probably. Maybe even Renjun.

The most important person in the equation, though, had never noticed. Maybe they were both too dense. Or maybe they were just too busy being in love. 

* * *

A fact: time passes. It’s hard and quick like a gust of winter draft to the face, and then Mark finds himself left with the stinging, waiting for more. He and Donghyuck graduate from university (together), move into a new home (together), and Mark dates around unsuccessfully and Donghyuck video calls Renjun (not together).

(Never together. Not in that respect.)

Mark wouldn’t consider himself “bad” at dating. He knew the routine: meet, talk, touch, love, break up inevitably when Mark finds himself pulling away just when things fall anywhere near serious. Mark considered himself a good boyfriend, by any means: he was polite, never going past the boundary, kind and handsome and a good listener.

His longest girlfriend lasted nine months, and her name was Mina. She had long, straight black hair and a cute eye smile that reminded Mark of a puppy, as well as a giving heart and warm personality that could put even the coldest person at ease. They’d met at one of Mark’s coworker’s house parties, and they’d clicked instantly; she always seemed to get Mark, and the mindless slide from friendship to romance was as easy as closing his eyes.

But things change. After a couple months, with Mark’s work piling up in anticipation of a raise, Mina’s calls and texts go unanswered. Their typically fortnightly date night gets missed once, twice, thrice in a row before they stop having date nights at all -- instead opting to go to Mina’s apartment to watch Netflix in silence, seated on opposite ends of the couch. Not even feigning affection.

Mark chooses not to acknowledge that this period of time coincided with Donghyuck and Renjun’s mutual confessions of love on their anniversary. Donghyuck had walked around for the rest of the week with a cherry-tinted glow, perpetually in a good mood, voice marshmallow sweet with every word that passed his lips. Mark would say he loved the change if it were because of him, but it wasn’t.

In the end, Mina breaks up with him. “You don’t even seem to be looking at me anymore,” she confesses, eyes downcast to the cafe table. “Always looking elsewhere, sometimes even past me. It’s like you’re not even here.”

Mark frowns. “But I am. Right here, I mean.”

Mina sighs, breath dyed blue. “See, that’s the issue, Mark,” she exhales, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She takes a deep breath. “You’re here physically, sure, but you’re not really _here_. It’s like your mind has just wandered off completely.”

That Mark couldn’t argue with. He bows his head. “I’m sorry, Mina.” He means it.

She smiles, rueful, the corners of her lips downturned despite the attempt. “Don’t apologise to me.” Her voice is tender and caring, and Mark wonders how she can still be so kind even when she’s supposed to be breaking up with him. She stands, adjusts her handbag on her shoulder. Her Americano sits completely untouched on the wooden table, probably cold. “Just be better next time.”

(Perhaps the worst part is not that he saw it coming. Perhaps it is that he did and never fought it, never tried harder.)

When he arrives home, Donghyuck is lying on the couch, watching an anime on his computer. He looks up, processes the weariness and regret painted on Mark’s face, and removes his headphones.

“Sorry, just one second,” Mark hears him whisper into the microphone. “Mark? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Mark replies. “Mina broke up with me.” Donghyuck’s brow furrows in worry, and Mark rushes to speak. “It’s fine though. I kind of…” He takes a deep breath. “I kind of saw it coming.”

“Oh.” Donghyuck’s voice softens round the edges, the shape of an iridescent bubble in the sunlight. “That’s a shame. I quite liked her.”

“I know,” Mark takes a deep breath. “So did I.” Which was true, but he hadn’t liked her as much as he liked Donghyuck; which, really, made it all the worse.

“Well, you can talk to me about it whenever you like,” Donghyuck adds, smiling reassuringly. He pats the cushion next to where he’s perched on the sofa. “Do you wanna watch the show with me and Renjun? We’re binging the latest Haikyuu season.”

Mark can see a small window in the top left corner of Donghyuck’s screen where Renjun sits, wide-eyed, likely listening to the entire exchange. It fills Mark with such sudden, red-hot frustration that he struggles to tamper it down, his voice coming out a bit too loud, yet a bit too weak.

“No thanks,” he bites out, too sharp, too spiteful. “Enjoy your movie, I guess. Haha.”

With that, he takes long strides to his room, slamming the door, and collapses face-first into his pillow. From his room, he can hear Donghyuck’s laughter and conversation pick up again as he speaks animatedly to Renjun over video call, and Mark bunches up his blankets between his fingers, crumpling the blue bedspread.

 _It’s been years_ , he wonders. _How long do these things hurt?_

Hurt, like energy, does not disappear completely. It just gets funnelled into other things, takes on other forms -- self-improvement in the best case scenario, self-destruction in the worst. Mark walks the shaky, quivering tightrope between both ends of the spectrum -- never angry, but never quite happy either. Resigned, defeated, stagnant and unyielding in the winds of change.

So no, Mark doesn’t think he’s a bad boyfriend. He’s just bad at not loving Donghyuck, even after all these years of practice.

* * *

Renjun comes to visit once in a while, and it never gets easier. It’s not that Mark doesn’t like Renjun -- he likes him plenty, and they’ve become relatively good friends over the years. It’s just that Mark still hasn’t, for all he’s tried, crawled out of the pit that is his crush on Donghyuck, and Renjun is in a very public, committed, almost too-good-to-be-true relationship with Donghyuck, and well--

You get the picture.

At least, though, Mark knows when Renjun is going to leave. Sometimes, Renjun’s only there for a couple of days, sometimes his visit extends to around a month or so -- regardless, always staying over at his friend Jeno’s house, despite Donghyuck’s insistence that he stay over at theirs. However, Mark knows that eventually he will leave, and though he feels guilty about it, there is a sense of relief that settles in Mark’s heart whenever he sees Renjun again over video call instead of in real life.

So that’s all well and good, until:

“Mark.”

Looking up from his computer, Mark finds Donghyuck standing in the doorway to his room. His expression is unreadable, carefully controlled as not to give away anything. “What’s up?”

“Come out to the living room,” Donghyuck responds, tone neutral and therefore inherently cryptic, because Donghyuck’s voice is never not tinged with some kind of emotion, whether good or bad. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Mark’s heart doesn’t sink into his stomach more so than it _plummets_. What was Donghyuck going to talk to him about? Minor incidents flash in his mind in slow motion -- had he forgotten to wash the dishes again? Take out the trash?

His blood freezes over. Had Donghyuck found out?

He doesn’t have time to ponder, because Donghyuck has already stalked out the doorway to the living room. Mark has no choice to follow, heart beating like a jackhammer. When he enters, Donghyuck is seated on the edge of one of the couches, abnormally silent. Across from him, Mark takes a seat. Their knees brush, and Donghyuck flinches at the touch, seemingly remembering where he is.

“What’s up?” Mark hopes the troubled tremble of his voice doesn’t come through as much as he thinks he does.

“Renjun asked me to move in with him.”

The world skids in its tracks. Record scratch. _Um._ Mark’s ears begin to ring, his heartbeat painfully apparent.

“But… Renjun lives in China?”

“He recently found a job here,” Donghyuck replies, heavy. “That’s why he’s been over so much the past few months. He’s officially going to move here next month.”

“Oh,” Mark says, more of a numb reaction than a response. “That’s nice.” It isn’t.

“I know.” So why does he sound so resigned? “I just… I don’t know.”

“What’s up?”

“Renjun and I have been together -- what, three years, now? Moving in shouldn’t feel like such a big step after this long, right? It shouldn’t be this big of a decision, but I find myself hanging back.”

“Why?”

“Well, first of all, I don’t want to leave you alone. After living with you for so long, it’s a big change to have to adjust to someone else’s lifestyle, even if it’s Renjun,” Donghyuck smiles ruefully. Even under the circumstances, Mark still feels flattered, gaze ducking to the floor for a split second. How thoughtful of Donghyuck. “Second, it’s just. Moving in is such a serious thing. It’s such a big step. What if it doesn’t work out?”

And Mark, selfishly, has every reason to egg on this train of thought. That ugly sense of jealousy rears its head, nods along voraciously with every word Donghyuck says. _Don’t go_ , it screams. _Don’t go_. “I mean…” Mark starts, not knowing where he's going with his sentence. _Tell him not to go_ , the monster screams.

Mark shakes his head.

“I haven’t seen anyone better for each other than you and Renjun,” Mark hears himself respond, and surprisingly he doesn’t have a meltdown on the spot. Even more surprisingly, he means it, somewhat. “Change is scary, but sometimes it’s the choice you have to make.

“I think you should move in with him. He makes you happy; don’t lose that.”

_Why the fuck did I say that?_

Donghyuck stills looks hesitant, and Mark babbles on, desperate to fill the empty air before he starts feeling compelled to admit the truths buried deep in himself. Silence tends to do that, sometimes. “I mean, if you’re really afraid that it won’t work out, you’re welcome to come back. I might move out, you know, because rent is too high for one person, but like if anything happens, we--”

Without warning, Donghyuck engulfs Mark in an embrace. It’s all-encompassing, Donghyuck holding tight to Mark’s shoulders as if he’d fall to pieces if he let go. Shocked, Mark doesn’t react for a moment before he hugs back, palms pressing softly into Donghyuck’s back. If he died now, he would be happy. This is everywhere he wants to be; here, only here, in their living room on their ratty, stained sofa, with Donghyuck in his arms.

After a moment, they let go.

* * *

It takes a surprisingly short time to pack someone’s life into boxes, even if it’s Donghyuck’s overflowing wardrobe of clothes. The day Donghyuck moves out, Mark helps to carry huge, heavy boxes into the back of the moving van, trying not to feel as if he’s putting pieces of heart in there along with Donghyuck’s belongings. 

So it’s back to this: the both of them standing in the doorway to their apartment. Except this time, it’s for a departure instead of an arrival, a farewell instead of a hello.

Donghyuck pulls Mark into a hug. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

For once, Mark lets himself be honest; lets himself get as close as he can to the truth without giving it away. “I’ll miss you too.” _I miss you already._

And then Donghyuck’s back is retreating, going down the rickety escalator, getting into his car and driving away. Mark stares at the expanse of space in front of him. The furniture is still there, mostly everything intact, but it’s half an apartment, half a home, half a heart missing, gone with the tides. His smile, having overstayed its welcome and use, sours like milk.

That night, Mark sleeps on the floor of Donghyuck’s old room, mourning a ghost who is still very much alive. It still smells faintly of Donghyuck’s cologne. Mark doesn’t cry.

The next few nights, Mark falls asleep to an empty apartment, the sounds of Donghyuck’s breathing gone from the wall next to his. His ceiling taunts him as he struggles to close his eyes until the first rays of dawn filter in through his blinds.

The next month, Mark moves out.

* * *

Mark lives alone.

Well, okay, not _alone_ alone. Just in his own apartment, devoid of any other presence for the most part, unless he decides to have people over. He makes friends with his next-door neighbour, a masters student called Na Jaemin, who he has dinner with every fortnight. Despite their general differences, Jaemin is a good conversationalist; good at talking, but better at listening than he lets on. He is the first person Mark tells about Donghyuck, one drunken, oily night over kimchi fried rice and soju.

“I get it,” Jaemin says, patting Mark’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I get it. Me too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Underneath the breeziness of Jaemin’s tone, Mark can spot an undercurrent of resignation; the same one that colours Mark’s own life in blue and grey scale. “I’ll tell you another day.”

Other than that, life goes on -- he works, he sleeps (barely, but that’s besides the point), he eats.

There are a few constants in life: the sky is blue, the Earth is flat, Mark is still very much in love with Donghyuck.

They meet up every Saturday for lunch, Renjun sometimes tagging along when his fellowship allows, but most of the time it’s just the two of them. It’s a different place every time -- Donghyuck will send Mark an Instagram ad or a Google review, and they’ll visit it the next weekend. It’s the same routine every Saturday for a year or so, until--

“Is that a ring?”

Mark’s thoughts speak before he can control them, eyes widening at the innocuous silver band on Donghyuck’s ring finger. This week, they’re eating at some indie cafe known for their Dutch pancakes and champagne special. Mark’s grip on his champagne glass is so tight that he’s afraid he’s going to crack it. For a moment, he imagines doing it -- imagines the golden champagne mixing with his blood on the way down, shards of glass sprinkling the table like a garnish.

Mark exhales. Donghyuck clicks his tongue.

“You finally noticed, idiot,” Donghyuck chides, but he’s smiling, and it drives a sword of sunbeam into Mark’s chest. The world around them seems to blur. “Renjun proposed two nights ago at dinner. You’re the first one to know, so don’t tell anyone yet.”

“Oh,” Mark reacts on autopilot. He forces a smile, hopes it seems sincere enough. Not that it isn't, but. Well. “Congratulations, Hyuckie. I’m really happy for you.” All true statements, and yet, Mark can’t seem to get himself to mean it.

Shyly, almost meekly, Donghyuck blushes, looks down. Donghyuck is never gentle -- always exaggerated, over-the-top. “Thank you.” He looks up again, eyes bright. “You’ll be my best man, right?”

So this is how love shapes you. Instead of burning like the sun, Donghyuck glimmers like a star -- a reduced, slightly less blinding version of who he used to be, but no less beautiful. A diamond buried in tar, a shimmer of white in a black tunnel.

“Of course, I will.” He says.

 _I love you_ , he means to say.

Mark goes home after that lunch to lie face-down on his bed, breathing in the scent of his pillow. In, out, in, out. It feels like at some point, after breathing in Donghyuck’s existence for so long, he’s unable to fully push him out. The act of letting go, they say, is as easy as breathing. What they never say is that the theory behind it is far more excruciating.

* * *

Wedding preparations begin a week after the Announcement, Donghyuck having decided he wanted to get married within the year so they could catch the cool, early spring weather at the wedding. Two things make themselves immediately apparent: firstly, Renjun’s best friend (and best man), admittedly, is _really, really_ cute.

“Same,” Donghyuck whispers from next to Mark, assessing the way Mark’s jaw drops slightly at the sight of Renjun’s best man walking up to them. “When I first met him, it was like. Woah. Holy shit. Like, I love Renjun, but Jeno is a whole other breed of gorgeous.”

The man, Jeno, walks up to them, eyes curved into crescents. “Nice to meet you, Mark,” He reaches his palm out. “I’m Jeno. I’m Renjun’s best friend--”

“False,” Renjun cuts in smoothly, suddenly appearing at Jeno’s side. “Chenle is my best friend. You’re just my best man because I don’t trust Chenle with anything related to my wedding.”

“Fine,” Jeno settles, diplomatically. His eyes are mirth with amusement, and he hasn’t stopped smiling. “I’m Renjun’s best man. Second best friend, I guess.”

“I-I’m Mark,” Mark answers, slightly starstruck. Jeno looks like a model; as in, literally, Mark’s 70% sure he’s seen him on a billboard for a fashion brand. “Donghyuck’s best man and best friend,” he casts his eyes towards Donghyuck, “I hope.”

“Of course, Markie,” Donghyuck counters affectionately. “No one’s stuck by me like you have.” He puckers his lips, leaning in to kiss Mark’s cheek, and Mark immediately leans away, pushing Donghyuck’s cheek in the other direction. He attempts to ignore the way his heart quickens in stupid, stupid wishful thinking.

It could never happen.

“He’s hot,” Donghyuck tells him later. “And bi. You’re also hot and bi. You should talk to him, I think you’d be good together.”

_Not as good as you and I could be. Could’ve been. Maybe if I weren’t such an idiot._

“Maybe.”

* * *

There’s not much to say about wedding planning. Mark practises ballroom dancing with Jeno, who smiles every time he sees Mark, kind and gracious. They pick Donghyuck’s tuxedo, and Mark has to excuse himself to the washroom to stare at himself in front of the sink mirror, hands braced against the sink, looking for himself in his own eyes.

Fitting. Cake tasting. Dancing. Speech-writing. It passes in a blur. Mark watches Donghyuck in blinding reality: humming in approval when they pick the chocolate cake he likes, ogling himself in the mirror when they get his tuxedo fitted. There’s a wedding hall on the outskirts of Seoul that has a garden blooming with purple flowers, and the wedding will be held there.

At no point does it ever not hurt, but Mark beats it down, smiles like he’s meant to. As Donghyuck and Renjun discuss, he talks to Jeno. It turns out that Jeno and Renjun’s friendship is one of those born off Club Penguin in the early days of the Internet, magical in its sheer coincidence. They’d communicated in shaky Korean over email from the time they were eight, meeting over video calls as they grew older, staying best friends until the end.

“Aren’t they such a lovely couple?” Jeno asks, watching Renjun. “I’ve never seen love quite like it. When Renjun first told me about Donghyuck, I had never seen him so excited before.”

Mark is forced to agree. He nods, trying not to be stiff. “Yeah,” He smiles. “It’s amazing.”

“Crazy,” Jeno comments, “how people just find each other.”

When Mark looks at him, Jeno is staring at him. Quickly, Mark looks away.

Here’s the thing: it isn’t hard to be genuinely happy for his best friend. Mark would be the first to congratulate Donghyuck in any case, the first to wish for his happiness and stand on his side. However, Mark would also be the first person to give it all up for Donghyuck, to stand aside for him, at the cost of his own unsaid emotions.

Love, in any case, is not petty. But even the most selfless person fantasises about what it’s like to be selfish for once. This is no sin. Mark is no jealous, selfish best friend. Mark is just a human in love, watching the rollercoaster of a lifetime, wishing for a turn despite knowing he'll never get one. Wondering what it would be like if he’d just taken a seat on the ride all those years ago.

* * *

The night before weddings is usually reserved for bachelor and bachelorette parties, but to everyone’s surprise, Donghyuck has opted not to have one. “Why should I celebrate my last day of being unattached?” He’d told everyone, pouting. “I can’t wait to get married!”

Despite all this, though, Mark hears a knock on his door close to midnight. When he answers the door, Donghyuck is standing there, a plastic bag full of soju bottles in hand.

“Hey,” Donghyuck says, small in an oversized hoodie against the dark behind him, illuminated only by Mark’s room light. He holds up the plastic bag. “I brought drinks.”

Mark lets him in, and Donghyuck sits himself on the edge of Mark’s bed, smoothly cracking open one of the bottles and taking a swig. Watching him, Mark closes his laptop and reaches for a bottle himself. Donghyuck looks nervous, the way he does when he’s teetering on a thought, or when something’s on his mind that he’s too afraid to voice. Those times are rare, but Mark has known him long enough to recognise them when they come.

“What’s up?” Mark asks, tentative. “You’re getting married tomorrow, you should get some sleep.”

Donghyuck exhales, takes another swig of his soju. Knowing Donghyuck’s alcohol tolerance, it looks like the goal is to get drunk tonight. He clears his throat, and it sounds like defeat. “Sometimes I wonder if all this was the right choice.”

“What do you mean?” Mark furrows his brows. “You love Renjun. You have for so long.”

Quiet, Donghyuck pauses. “This isn’t a conversation I can have sober. Get me another bottle, I bought a bunch. Drinks are on me this time. For once.”

And so Mark does what Donghyuck wants -- passes him another bottle, which Donghyuck downs like water on a hot day, doesn’t ask any questions. They exchange jokes and conversation like they always have, words growing increasingly slurred and unhinged as the night goes on. Adulthood has taken a lot from them: time, energy, youth, but in moments like these, it feels like they’re in university again -- living, loving, hope abundant in their hearts and gold in their eyes. It’s almost easy to ignore the fact that Donghyuck would be married within the next 24 hours, so easy to forget that he’ll be walking down the aisle to someone who is not Mark.

Almost.

It’s half-past two when Donghyuck decides he’s drunk enough to delve into his spiel of sadness again, which sobers them both up -- the conversation too real, too serious.

“I love Renjun,” Donghyuck states, a hard face. “I do. But isn’t it natural to be scared? I can’t be the only one who’s just been thinking about it. I’m not scared of loving him more so than I’m scared that one day I’ll stop.”

Mark nods. Divorce is an ugly, ugly thing -- something both of them had expressed mutual fears about. But divorce is nothing but the result of something far scarier: the falling out of love, the progressively worse arguments, the cracks turning into chasms turning into a gaping, empty hole.

“Sometimes, it’s like… I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if it was someone else at the end of the aisle.” Donghyuck admits, cheeks red. “Renjun is the only one for me, of course, but sometimes… I just wonder.”

This, out of everything, sobers Mark up. “Really?” Mark asks, curious. “Like who?”

Beat. Donghyuck sighs. “You never got it, didn’t you.” Statement. Not a question.

Oblivious, Mark blinks away the fog in his brain. “Got what?”

The following pause is loaded like a revolver, russian roulette in a chamber, loading the magazine, aim, shoot--

“I was in love with you, once.” Beat. “Not that long ago, actually. Shorter than I’d ever admit to anyone, even myself.”

_In another life. In another life._

The day after the Announcement, Mark goes over to Jaemin’s house for their fortnightly dinner. Casual talk over drinks and _tteokbokki_ turns into heartfelt conversation, their deepest secrets splayed out across the table in moments of lilac vulnerability.

“You’re so brave, you know, Mark,” Jaemin speaks over the silence that hangs over his dinner table, overhead lamp casting light onto the both of them. The beams move like water, and Jaemin’s voice is as melancholy as an ocean. “Being his best man, despite everything.”

“You think so?” Mark asks, doubtful. “If anything, I feel stupid for never telling him. I’ll feel stupid for as long as I have to bear this burden while having to watch him be happy.”

“Mm, yeah--”

“You know, the worst part is, it could’ve been me, too,” Mark thinks out loud.The comfort of Jaemin’s home and inherently kind personality makes it easy for him to admit truths he hadn’t even fully realised yet, secrets spilling out onto the dinner table like fountains from his heart. “I don’t know for sure. But maybe if I were a little less of an idiot, a little more brave, things could’ve worked out. For us.”

Jaemin looks so old under the light. “I know, Mark, me too.”

“Really?”

They’d approached this conversation before, but Jaemin had always pulled away before they could get into his side of the story. This time, however, he doesn’t.

“He was my best friend,” Jaemin reminisces. “Tall, younger than me, captain of the dance team in our high school. He moved away right before I graduated, before I could tell him. The last I’ve heard from him, he’s off in Europe on some dance scholarship. France, was it? Or Germany. He's in a happy relationship now too, it's all over his Instagram.” He pauses, then shrugs. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Why didn’t you keep in touch with him?”

“You don’t think I tried?” Jaemin sounds so tired, so abnormal compared to his usual enthusiastic, energetic antics and anecdotes. “I tried so hard, Mark. But love is as much about timing as it is about passion, and I just… couldn’t figure it out. Sometimes, people are just not meant to be.”

Mark bites the inside of his cheek, stares down at his empty plate.

“You are so brave for loving him the way you do,” Jaemin assures softly, words cotton soft against Mark’s aching, jagged spirit. “To love someone so much you let them go is the most true, courageous kind of love there is. It is something I could not do then, something I struggle to do now. You’ve done it so easily, and that is the most admirable kind of love someone could give.”

Tears prick at the corners of Mark’s eyes, sliding down his face without him even realising. When he presses the back of his hand to his cheek, it comes away damp. “Does it ever get easier?”

From across the table, Jaemin grabs his hands. Connection through pain, solidarity through the shadows, reaching into darkness hoping to find anything -- a torch, a candle, a hand to hold. Sometimes that is all you need to keep going.

“A little,” Jaemin acquiesces, and underneath the weariness, there lies determination borne from a million experiences of falling down. “With space, perhaps. And time.”

_Space. Time. Other lives._

Impassioned, Mark feels a wall of frustration rise in his chest. _It could’ve been me,_ he thinks, and the cracks in his heart finally bleed out, yellow yolk from broken eggshell, weak and tired after too many hits.

“What does that even mean?” He asks, sharp as a nail. Donghyuck winces. “You can’t have been in love with me. You were with Renjun, you can’t disrespect him like that.”

“I know,” Donghyuck mumbles, and to Mark’s horror, his voice is muffled with incoming tears. “It’s my sin to bear.”

Mark deflates, defeated. “But not anymore, right?”

Donghyuck shakes his head, glumly. “No, not anymore. But I was for a long time. Longer than you could ever understand.”

Mark understands perfectly well, but he can't say that -- not now, not in a million years. He lets out a deep breath he didn’t even realise he’d been holding back. “Okay,” He says. “Thank you for telling me.”

“This doesn’t change anything, alright?” Exhausted. “I’m still getting married tomorrow. We’re still best friends. It’s just… something I’ve been sitting on for a long time. Felt right to tell you, somehow.” Donghyuck stands, nearly stumbles. “I’m going to bed, now. See you tomorrow.”

Numb, Mark stands too. “Let me walk you to your room. You’re very drunk.”

“I’m okay, “ Donghyuck says, but doesn’t fight when Mark puts his arm around his shoulders to steady him. It feels so familiar, Mark suddenly reminded of that fateful night after Lucas' party all the way back in university. It feels like so long ago, _is_ so long ago, and yet absolutely nothing has changed. They walk to Donghyuck’s room, just down the corridor, their footsteps echoing around the floor. When Donghyuck enters the doorway, he pauses, turns back. 

“I still love you, Mark, even if it’s not in that way anymore,” He smiles, soft, a small star in the night. Mark’s breath hitches against his own will. “I think I always will. You’re my best friend, after all. Thank you for tonight. Tomorrow awaits.”

He closes the door.

Mark stares at the closed door, white paint chipped slightly. He has half a mind to open the door, to shout out his confession to the high heavens, regardless of who would hear it. _It’s not fair_ , his heart thrums. _It’s not fair. Nothing about this is fair._ He thinks about sinking to the floor right then and there, the way the male protagonist in a movie would, sniffling and crying. Putting his back to the door, wondering if Donghyuck is doing the same behind it -- the way all dramas have that exact same shot.

But this is no drama. This is reality, and doing either of those wouldn’t get Mark anywhere closer to Donghyuck; in fact, it might push them further apart. Thus, Mark swallows, straightens up, and leaves, only allowing himself to crumble when he’s back in his room.

Heartbreak is not always tears. It is not always a stab to the stomach, an exile, a nauseous feeling in your stomach. Mark sits at the edge of his bed, head in his hands and numb to his core, the shadows in his room swirling around him. He doesn’t feel empty at all. In fact, he feels full, emotions bursting like geysers in his chest; flooding his ribcage, drowning his lungs, bubbling up like red-hot lava in a volcano. The world around him continues to turn, quietly, gently; the clock still ticks in the background. Outside his room, purple lilacs waltz softly in the moonlight.

The difference between grief and heartbreak is this: heartbreak comes first; the overwhelming, teeming fullness of it all. Because heartbreak, at its very essence, is just love with nowhere to go; stopping short, spilling out. Grief comes after -- the emptiness, the raw, painful mess of nothing at all. Negative space in the empty cavity of your chest.

Both emotions hurt. Both emotions can put you at your lowest. But to have loved is to have felt either of those, and that is the greatest privilege of them all.

* * *

In the back room of the wedding hall, Mark readjusts his tie in the mirror. He wonders how Donghyuck is feeling on the other side of the building -- if he's happy. If he has any regrets. Mark definitely does.

Closure is fake. The confession that had come with the night before had not been washed away by dawn, lingering like shame in every fold of Mark's mind. Hope. Wishful thinking. If life was a movie, maybe Mark would have the audacity to stop the wedding. Actually, maybe he would've confessed to Donghyuck earlier. Or at all.

However, the shock of any reality makes even the bravest man nervous. Once upon a time, Mark had wished fervently for the end to never come, a self-serving desire to hold onto a worn idea of love. But now, five minutes away from watching the love of his life walk down an aisle to someone that isn't him, he doesn't see letting go as an end; rather, a change. A full stop to a run-on sentence to begin a new one.

Closure is fake, because life goes on beyond any 'end' or punctuation mark, a story yet to be written.

"Are you ready?" Jeno asks.

Mark exhales, lets the afternoon sun filter onto his face. They're due to enter the wedding hall any moment now to take their place at the end of the aisle; one Donghyuck will inevitably walk down as well, arm in arm with his father. To his surprise, the vision fills Mark with peace instead of conflict. Regret won't disappear forever, and perhaps he'll always love Donghyuck a little bit.

"Mark?"

Maybe this doesn't have to be the end, after all.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

* * *

This is how the wedding will go:

Donghyuck will be the one in white, walking down the aisle. His boutonniere is violet, and Donghyuck gets purple highlights in his hair. It would look tacky on anyone else, but on Donghyuck, it’s refreshing and gorgeous. Donghyuck is gorgeous. After their vows (which leave no dry eye in the audience), Renjun and Donghyuck will seal their marriage under an ivory-yellow sky, right before sunset. Their first dance will be to a Chinese love song.

Mark will smile for the cameras, watching Donghyuck waltz from his place at the banquet table. When they lock eyes for an almost inconsequential moment, there will be a mutual understanding, immense love in the momentary charge between two best friends. Donghyuck will smile, imperceptibly. So will Mark.

Not the ending of a chapter. Rather, the middle of a longer love story.

_In another life. In this one, love goes on._

Mark will deliver a speech. It’s eloquent and well-thought-out and Donghyuck will cry at the end of it. It’s the second hardest thing Mark will ever do in his life.

“Hey,” Jeno approaches him, after the speech, genuine. “I really liked your speech. Tear-jerker. You must really love Donghyuck.”

 _More than you’ll ever know_ , Mark thinks. “Gross,” he remarks instead, jokingly. “I love him as much as you love Renjun.”

But Jeno understands, and he laughs, grin brilliant in the late afternoon sun. “So not at all?”

“Obviously.”

Mutual chuckles. Pause. They both speak at the same time.

“I--”

“Mark--”

They fall silent. This time, Jeno speaks first.

“Mark,” he says, tone neutral, trying not to give anything away. He outstretches his palm, almost the same way he did when they first met, except this time it faces up. “Can I have this dance?”

From behind Jeno, Mark catches Donghyuck’s eye, who processes the situation in a split second. _Dance With Him,_ Donghyuck mouths furiously, eyebrows moving almost comically. Mark smiles.

The act of letting go, they say, is easier than breathing. In that moment, Mark’s heart unclenches its iron-fist hold on him, years of love flowing out of him into the sky, beyond the horizon, to a distant place where the sun meets the edge of the ocean in perfect harmony. The final closing to a chapter.

It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. But loving Donghyuck, as it is, has always been the easiest.

He looks back at Jeno, who’s still staring hard at him. “Sure,” he responds, and the eyesmile reappears on Jeno’s face. “Why not?”

Around him, the sky erupts into golden.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter!!](https://twitter.com/dreamsforjeno)  
> thank you for reading!!  
> kudos/comments are greatly appreciated <3  
> have an amazing day everyone


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